


Bastard

by ALCzysz17



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cunnilingus, Day 2: Envy, Doggy Style, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Graphic Violence, He wants Sansa, He wants Winterfell, He wants lordship, Jonsa week, Loss of Virginity, POV Jon Snow, Vaginal Sex, and nothing is going to stand in his way, but not suPER graphic, darkJon, envy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 03:05:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16467440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALCzysz17/pseuds/ALCzysz17
Summary: Jon's life shifts rapidly with envy paving the way to what he wants most of all...~He has always wanted it, always wanted Winterfell. As a bastard, Jon Snow learned the hard way that he could never have what he truly wanted. He had many, many wishes and wants, but as many as there were, very few would ever be granted. Becoming Lord of Winterfell was one of them.~Jonsa Week Day 2: Envy





	Bastard

**Author's Note:**

> So, I love this idea so much, but I feel it is a tad rushed because of the deadline and my last minute decision to do two or three of the prompts. The beginning is sad, so forewarning right now, and some violence that is a bit graphic, but not overly. I tried to do a happy median when it came to descripting. 
> 
> Enjoy!! ^_~

 

 

He has always wanted it, always wanted Winterfell. As a bastard, Jon Snow learned the hard way that he could never have what he truly wanted. He had many, many wishes and wants, but as many as there were, very few would ever be granted. Becoming Lord of Winterfell was one of them.

Jon learned this at a young age when playing make-believe with his brother, Robb Stark. They had been calling out different lords and knights and kings that they wished to be. It had all been fun and games until Jon decided to shout out his deepest secret; he shouted out that he was ‘Lord of Winterfell’.

Quickly the game ended when instead of Robb, another voice cruelly informed him of his misstep.

“You could never be Lord of Winterfell, you are a bastard, Jon Snow and that will never be your place.” Jon flinched, turning wide eyes to see Lady Catelyn standing behind the boys with baby Arya curled up in her arms and little Sansa clinging to her skirts.

“But,” Jon started, quickly losing his train of thought underneath her scary glare.

“No buts, a bastard could never hope for lordship especially when there are trueborn children in line of heritance. Robb will become Lord of Winterfell, not you. The sooner you learn your place, the better for everyone around you. You are a bastard, Jon Snow, never forget that,” Catelyn continued sternly, glancing between Jon and Robb before turning away to head back into the Keep.

Little Sansa glanced back at Jon with a sad smile, her eyes watching him as he tried to not tear up. Robb said something, but he heard nothing while he stared after Lady Catelyn and his half-sisters.

Jon bit his lip then stormed away, ignoring his brother’s calls. Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision. He didn’t know where he was going, only that he did not wish to be around Robb and reminded that he was nothing but a bastard child. Jon was reminded rather daily about his unfortunate status and he wished not to stand there and hear his brother try to alleviate his pain that was his life.

Eventually, Jon stopped in the godswood, coming to a halt before the heart tree with its carved-out eyes and wide mouth. Red sap dripped from the bark, some even leaking out of the eyes, making the tree appear as though it were crying. Jon wiped at his wet face, sniffling a few times before dropping to his knees to pray to the old gods.

He prayed for guidance, he prayed for hope, and he prayed for his deepest secrets to come true. He prayed and wished for Winterfell, knowing that it was his brother, Robb’s place, Jon still wished for it all the same.

The wind started to pick up, rustling the leaves of the trees around him. It caressed his drying cheeks, stirred his hair and clothes, and suddenly a soothing warmth trickled down his spine. Jon took a deep breath, feeling calm and loose and almost free. There was a slight buzzing in his head then everything went silent around him, yet he could feel eyes watching him. A sense of confidence and strength grew inside him like the old gods were encouraging him to continue and fight for what he wanted.

Jon felt blessed.

“Jon.” He jumped at the sound of his name, opening his eyes to see his father standing slightly behind him with soft, kind eyes and gentle smile. “Come along lad, supper has begun.”

Jon nodded, standing up though he glanced back at the heart tree before joining his father’s side.

He could still feel the eyes and warmth of the old gods at his back…

\-----------------------------------------------

Years went by, Jon grew older, wiser, and shrewd. He went to his lessons, and excelled at everything he did, proving himself over and over that though he held a bastard name, he was anything but his status. Though he never held any ill-will towards Robb, he still envied the lessons of lordship.

During those lessons, Jon would be saddled with Theon and practicing their swordsmanship outside. He could never stand Greyjoy and his loud mouth. If it wasn’t women he bedded then he mouthed off about his perceived status while rubbing Jon raw over his. It took all his will power to not miscalculate his swing and accidentally strike Theon in the face.

It had been a normal day when everything changed.

Jon was wiping the ground with Theon’s face during their practice when out of nowhere there was shouting and people running. They both stopped, glanced at each other for a moment then dropped their swords and quickly shrugged off their practice gear to hurry off and find out what was going on.

Jon worked his way through the crowd of people until he came across Arya, crying her eyes out. She immediately jumped into Jon’s arms, burying her face into his chest. He then noticed Bran and Rickon crowded in Sansa’s arms while the boys cried into her shoulders. Her face was wet with tears. Loud shouting and crying, drew his attention to find Lady Catelyn crying over Eddard Stark on the ground with Robb kneeling beside his mother.

The air was knocked out of his chest at the sight of his father’s unseeing eyes staring up at the high ceiling. Maester Luwin was on his other side, shaking his head with drawn brows and sad expression. Jon felt sick as he realized his father was gone. He wrapped his arms tightly around Arya, rubbing her back to comfort her while the urge to scream and cry came over him, but he held his emotions at bay.

Maester Luwin was stating about Ned’s earlier bouts of shortness of breath and chest pains. He stated that the Lord of Winterfell succumbed to a massive heart attack. Lady Catelyn held tightly to her husband’s lifeless hand, squeezing it repeatedly as though she could will the life back into his body.

For days afterwards, everyone was solemn and withdrawn. Jon kept his distance and, in the shadows, as much as possible. The fear that Lady Catelyn would send him away in her sorrow kept him from entering the Great Hall and even during the funeral, he kept towards the back and out of sight.

Robb assured Jon that he would not be going anywhere. Now that lordship had been passed onto Robb Stark, he took to all the work as soon as possible while his mother wept and mourned her husband. Jon found himself saddled with his brother, learning as he was and giving him a second pair of eyes and ears for the work.

Jon wasn’t surprised that he was taking to lordship easier than Robb did. Ever since that day and his praying in the godswood, he took to studying harder. He spent days in the library, reading any and all books about lordship that was available. While Robb would fool around with Theon and flirt with girls, Jon was asking his father questions and assisting him when he could. He knew it was why Robb insisted that he help him, it also made him valuable too.

It would be harder for Lady Catelyn to send Jon away when he held such knowledge in running the castle as he did.

During those times, Robb and Jon grew even closer than ever before. Truly, Jon was starting to feel like a trueborn brother to Robb like they were twins rather than half-brothers. It was during this transition though that tragedy would strike twice.

Sickness seeped through Winterfell’s halls. Many servants, and maids were struck by the sickness, including Jory Cassel, Septa Mordane, the blacksmith, and Robb.

Lady Catelyn was distraught over Robb falling ill, staying by his side while guaranteeing her other children to avoid the sickness spreading to them. Maester Luwin did what he could for all the victims of the sickness before loading Jon with all the responsibilities of lordship while Robb was predisposed.

It was hard work, long nights, and lonely days. Jon relished the work though, feeling like an acting lord though really, he was only holding Robb’s place while he was bedridden. He went to visit his sick brother and was reminded of his precarious place by Lady Catelyn. She told him that he was only a place holder, that once Robb was up and moving he would be ousted out.

She even stated he would do better if he joined the Night’s Watch.

Jon held his tongue, merely looked over Robb before leaving to continue his duties. He wished to snarl back at her, tell her that he was doing a far better job of being lord than Robb had done. He had asked their father questions, listened to his words and worked alongside him before his untimely death. Where was Robb?

Right, Jon thought spitefully, he was out with Theon in Winter Town, flirting with swoony ladies while I learned the hardships of a lord’s duty.

It was hard to not be angry and envious when he did far better work than his brother. Robb had even acknowledged that fact later.

He was awake, pale and sweaty. He managed to shoo his mother out for rest and food, so he and Jon could talk without her hovering over their shoulders.

“You are a far better lord than I am,” Robb admitted softly, coughing roughly afterwards. Jon quickly helped him up to sip some water to soothe his throat. “I’d be lost without you, Jon.”

“I’m your brother, it’s what I am here to do. I will help you as much as I can, so you need to take your time and get better.” Robb laughed hoarsely, his face scrunching up in mild pain.

“I feel horrible! My bones ache, my chest aches, and my throat is so raw that it is painful to drink and eat.” Jon frowned, listening to Robb recite his aches and pains while his voice switched between high pitch to low pitch.

“Keep drinking though, Maester Luwin said to keep fluids in you,” Jon commented lightly, handing his brother his water to force him to drink some more.

“I know, Jon. Don’t baby me, my mother does well enough without help,” Robb muttered, his tone harsh and full of annoyance, but Jon didn’t let it bother him. “Sorry, I don’t mean to snap,” he added as an afterthought, sipping at his water to appease Jon.

“It’s alright, I know you aren’t feeling well.”

“I need to talk to you about something actually,” Robb started, pushing his water back to Jon to place on his nightstand. “Make sure the door is locked.”

Jon frowned at him, arching a brow in confusion as to what he needed to know that required the door being locked. Regardless, he got up and did as he was told. Upon getting back Robb settled himself back against his propped-up pillows.

“Maester Luwin had me start drafting my will; just in case. Since I am not betrothed, nor do I have a son of my own, I have to appoint an heir.” Jon nodded, already knowing that he was going to appoint Bran as heir. It was the logical thing to do since he was the second trueborn son of Eddard and Catelyn Stark. “It would normally go to Bran, but he is only eleven and far too young for lordship. I decided, in the case of my untimely death, that I will appoint you as my successor, my heir.”

Jon choked, his jaw dropped, and he couldn’t help but stare at Robb like he had lost his mind. “Have you gone mad?! Your mother would never approve, not to mention I am a bastard, Robb. I am not meant for lordship.”

“Yet, you are the only one capable of taking over for me. Seven hells, you are right now! Bran wishes to be a knight, I wish to have him fostered in White Harbor with Lord Manderly for a while before finding him a position as a squire. That leaves Rickon who is even younger. Sansa and Arya will eventually wed and leave, I can only trust this position to you,” Robb said with a breathless smile. His breathing was slightly ragged and worried Jon, but not as much as what he was being told.

The thought that he could get Winterfell, the one wish he had always wanted. The deepest secret he prayed to the old gods. It was so easily within his grasps, but that meant Robb dying. Knowing that stalled the excitement in his veins.

“If…If you pass, I will be honored to uphold the Stark values and undertake the duty of lordship for Winterfell,” Jon vowed seriously, going down to one knee and crossing his arm over his chest to his shoulder as he bowed to Robb.

His brother chuckled lightly at the display before another coughing fit took him. Jon forced more water down his throat before he was waved to his brother’s desk in the far corner. It was there he made out the will, though it was not completely finished, but it was close. Jon felt an odd mixture of dread and happiness at the sight of the paper.

Eventually, he left his brother to rest while he continued his lordly duties in his stead.

Jon wished he had told Robb how much he meant to him. He wished he had hugged his sickly brother and prayed harder at the heart tree. He wished things had not turned to shit the way they had.

He wished he hadn’t woken the next morning…

Jon woke early-earlier than even Maester Luwin. His stomach was churning with nerves and stress, and all he had done that night is toss and turn before a fitful slumber. He dressed then visited the direwolves. It was there he noticed Grey Wind acting strangely, cowering in the corner and whimpering softly.

When his dark eyes connected with Jon’s, it was like he knew.

Jon raced back inside the Keep, rushing through the corridors before coming to a halt before Robb’s chamber door. A stillness came over him, the air quiet around him. Nerves rattled his limbs, making his fingers shake as he reached out for the door handle. It turned and opened easily enough then Jon entered the darkened room.

The air inside was thick with the stench of sickness and something else.

Death.

Jon raised his hand to cover his mouth, gagging between his fingers at the smell before walking over towards the windows that let in the moonlight outside. He lit a candle on the desk, noting that the will was still unfinished before turning back to Robb in his bed. Jon walked slowly towards him with the candle flickering as he moved. Shadows did a strange dance on the stone walls and shied away the closer he got to his brother.

“Robb,” Jon called out. He edged closer, coughing at the smell exuding from the bed.

As he came to a stop by the bed side, there was no mistaking the stench any longer. There in bed was Robb, his eyes half open as though he were awake but dazed and staring off into space. Jon choked again though this time it was from sorrow than the smell. Robb’s chest was not moving. The candle light flickered violently in his hold, pain and sorrow rippled through his skin as tears watered in his eyesight.

“Robb, no…” Jon dropped to his knees, setting the candleholder on the floor. Sobs took over his body. A giant hole opened inside his chest with the realization that his brother, his best friend, was dead. His throat was closing up in his sorrow, his breathes raggedly entering and exiting his quaking chest.

Jon wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and wrap his arms around his brother, but he stilted the urge, knowing that he still carried the sickness in him. It took him several minutes before he could rise from the ground with some semblance of balance. Jon could hardly bear to look at Robb again, whipping around to stare at the far wall instead.

In his line of sight was the desk. The will. Jon reached down to pick up the candleholder, taking shaky steps back towards the desk to see the will unfinished. He glanced briefly back at the bed, remembering what his brother had wanted for Bran and the duty Jon accepted yesterday. Yet only he had heard Robb’s wishes and without another soul or written proof, his wishes would go unfulfilled.

Unless…

Jon found a quill and ink beside the will. He battled with the rights and wrongs of what he thought of doing. He knew what Robb had wanted, but it was wrong to finish his will. Yet if he didn’t then Bran would inherit by rules of succession and Jon would lose his chance of having Winterfell; his deepest secret.

He went back and forth within his mind, weighing the pros and cons. It was then he remembered the feeling of that day when Lady Catelyn told him so coldly that he would never accomplish lordship, that he needed to learn that sooner for the better of everyone around them. That he was a bastard and should never forget it.

Would it not rub her the wrong way if he completed Robb’s wish?

He has always wanted it, always wanted Winterfell. A coursing stream of heat washed over him, hot and raging in his belly like wildfire. Jon always wanted it and why couldn’t he take it? It was already offered to him; his brother was just too weak to finish what he intended too. No one would ever know. He and Robb had similar handwriting, so similar that Jon could easily copy his brother’s handwriting to complete the will.

Right and wrong, pro and con. Jon felt his head throb, but the heat burned inside him. He could finally have what he wanted, what he had trained for, what he was told would be his upon his brother’s untimely death. The only way he could get that is if he finished the will, and the only way to get what you want is by doing everything possible to get it.

Jon felt no guilt as he finished the will, naming him heir and Robb’s other wishes. Not a lick of guilt came over him, only that burning hot wildfire, blaring green and bright within him stayed…

The only guilt he felt was over leaving Robb’s body and allowing a servant to find him dead. He could only imagine the accusations that would be flung at him from Lady Catelyn if he was the one to announce her first born son’s death. No, instead Jon went back to his chambers to dwell on the future of Winterfell and his future leading it. It was only a few hours later that a banging came to his door.

Jon was escorted to Robb’s room to find Lady Catelyn crying over his body much like she had only moons ago for her husband. Maester Luwin relayed that Robb’s heart gave out and he passed during the night. Another wave of sorrow came over him. He shook to the point that Maester Luwin helped him to a chair.

The rest of their siblings and Keep were informed as he sat there, still trying to come with terms over the fact that he finally got what he wanted, but at the expanse of the people he loved most. He chanced a glance at Catelyn to see her staring hard at Robb’s dead face, tears dripping heavily down her pale cheeks. As though feeling his gaze, she looked up until their eyes connected then her face transformed.

Gone was the sorrowful, pained expression of a woman grieving over the loss of her first-born son. Now her expression held nothing but contempt and hatred, her eyes narrowing harshly as her cheeks flushed. Maester Luwin meandered over as she opened her mouth, he held the will in his hands.

“I think you should look at this, my lady,” he announced, handing over the paper for her to read. Jon watched the moment she came across his finishing of the will. He watched the way the color drained from her face further, the way her eyes widened, and the way her mouth opened in shock.

“This cannot be right! Robb would never disinherit his siblings over a bastard! This is fake!” Catelyn contested loudly, shaking the paper before the old man snatched it from her fingers. She stood quickly, stumbling along the way to point an accusing finger at him. “You coerced him to do it!”

“I’m sorry, my lady, but this is Robb’s handwriting,” Luwin declared grimly, glancing between her and Jon. He opted to keep his mouth shut, knowing anything he said would be held against him.

“I don’t accept it! Robb would never do that! He was sick, feverish, what is written there cannot be taken as truth,” she continued to cry out, face blazing red in her anger. The old Maester merely shook his head at her.

“I’m sorry, my lady. Robb told me he would have his will ready for this morning, that is why I found him first. Truly, I am sorry.” Catelyn balled her hands into fists, but she had lost the fight in her.

Jon found that he still felt no guilt, not in finishing the will and not for the pain and rage Lady Catelyn Stark was going through over it. He felt sorrow for the loss of Robb, but that was all he felt in regards to her feelings.

Though a window was open to allow the stench of death to seep from the room, Jon still needed fresh air. He quietly excused himself from the room where he found his remaining siblings outside. Jon stopped, looking over each one carefully.

Arya had her bottom lip bitten down and sucked into her mouth as she tried to keep from crying though her eyes were watery. Sansa was holding little Rickon in her arms, rubbing his back while he cried into her nightgown covered shoulder. She was openly crying, her blue eyes tinged with redness and cheeks covered in trails of tears. Then there was Bran, staring up at him with his chest puffed out, trying to be the lord he most likely feared he would be named.

The feeling of sadness and loss burrowed into his chest. Jon grabbed Bran by the shoulder, pulling him towards Sansa while reaching for Arya and quickly engulfed them all within his arms. Both Bran and Arya started to shake, indicating their released tears. Sansa leaned into him, caging Rickon between them before gently setting her head on his shoulder to hide her face.

A different kind of warmth came over Jon, pushing away the wildfire he had heating his belly; replacing it with the presence of warmth only family could provide. He dropped his forehead against her other shoulder, allowing a few tears to escape his eyes as they all held on to each other. It seemed Jon didn’t need air; he needed family…

\--------------

Jon was never given the proper time to mourn the loss of his brother. There were too many things to be done, grain count, sum count, repairing parts of the castle that were slowly decaying from age, and directing everyone around him, taxes. He only had that day Robb was found dead to grieve then he was thrust into his duty as Lord of Winterfell.

Bran was more than grateful to not be chosen as lord. He was saddened by the will stating he would be fostered in White Harbor, but knowing it was Robb’s final wish helped. Catelyn fought tooth and nail to keep Bran home, but she couldn’t fight Robb’s will. Jon avoided her best he could, shrinking to the shadows when he heard her coming, and dunking his head when passing by her.

He took it upon himself to throw a feast the night before Bran would leave for his fostering. Considering that Lady Catelyn had stopped doing her duties after the death of her husband and Jon had taken up her duties when Robb was learning his duties, it was Sansa that took up her mother’s duties. She knocked and entered his solar days before, surprising Jon at her appearance.

They had not been the closest of siblings growing up though that did not mean there was a lack of love between them. Jon figured she didn’t really know where to place him in her life as she was a lady and he a bastard. Now though, he was a bastard with the status of lord underneath his belt. Still, it surprised him to see her enter his solar.

“Yes, Sansa, was there something you needed?” Jon questioned, clamping his jaw to keep from yawning loudly. She lightly smiled, twiddling her fingers together in nervousness.

“Yes, actually. I um…I have noticed that mother hasn’t been…available to take care of her lady’s duties, so I thought I could help you like you did for Robb,” Sansa stated shyly, blushing and glancing away.

“You want to help me?” Jon asked in confusion. She nodded, diverting her eyes back to his with a determined jut of her jaw.

“I know you have many duties, I could take care of the household while you handle the rest. It is what I am taught to do when I eventually wed, I see no harm in starting early,” Sansa then shrugged lightly, “learning while doing works better for me too.”

Jon felt his cheeks tighten as his lips stretched in a smile. His heart strangely started beating faster making him withdraw his smile to nod. “Thank you, I truly appreciate it.”

Sansa concurred with the feast idea, vowing to make it happen. Jon found his time was easier to manage once she took a third of the load off his back. He also found he liked having Sansa’s company in the solar. She worked quietly when she looked over the scrolls they received that day, dividing what was immediately important for Jon to look over and what could wait. Then she would be off like a butterfly, moving throughout the Keep. She took over the role of Lady of Winterfell smoothly.

Bran was greatly surprised when Arya blindly tugged him to the Great Hall to see it full of people and food. The direwolves played around as people danced and ate. Jon sat at the head table, finding his new position strange and otherworldly as he sat there, watching over the proceedings. Lady Catelyn sat further down the table, sipping at her wine while her eyes rove over the people dancing on the floor.

He averted his eyes back to the dancing, spotting Sansa with the blacksmith’s apprentice, or the blacksmith as it is. He, too, had passed from the sickness. A few others died and were mourned in the passing days. Yet it seemed things were starting to finally look up.

“Jon.” He lifted his head to find his sister with Tully coloring now standing before him.

“Sansa,” Jon greeted, giving her a small smile. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

She nodded brightly, the way her smile widened caused his heart to pick up in rhythm. “Would you care to dance…with me?” she asked quickly.

Jon frowned, glancing back at the people dancing, noting that they were doing one of the Northern dances he never learned. As a bastard, even with a higher education, he was never forced to learn. Sansa waited patiently for him to answer though her smile wasn’t as bright the longer he kept her waiting. Instead of giving her a straight ‘no’, he decided to be honest.

“I was never taught,” Jon answered, waving his hand out to the crowd.

“That’s alright, I can teach you!” Sansa declared, walking around the table to reach his side. She waited for him to stand, and once he did, she latched onto his arm to tug him down to the floor.

Jon allowed her to pull him to the floor. He felt a burning sensation in his back and he could only imagine it was her mother, glaring daggers at him. Sansa lead Jon near the middle of the floor then started to direct him on where his hands should be before showing him how to move his feet. He glanced around them to see how the men were leading their ladies and before he knew it, he was spinning Sansa around on the floor gracefully.

Her smiles and laughter made his stomach heat up and churn, and her touch sent jolts of pleasure singing through his nerve endings. Jon even smiled and chuckled, finding her happiness contagious. The worries that he carried on his shoulders seemed to evaporate underneath her bright blue eyes and beautiful smiling lips.

He spun her around the floor, pulling her into him, so he could hold her close and feel the warmth of her skin sinking into his. Sansa bit down on her lip, gazing into his eyes so happily. Jon felt that telltale stirring in his trousers causing him to stop their dance abruptly.

“Sorry, Sansa, I’m feeling quite dizzy,” Jon apologized, rubbing at his forehead while looking for a way to escape. She looked at him, her expression morphed with concern. She reached up to push back a few frizzy curls from his face, her fingers lightly touching his skin that sent more jolts straight to his groin.

“Maybe some fresh air will help,” Sansa remarked, startling him further when she pressed her hand against his cheek, cupping it.

“Perhaps fresh air is what I need, yes.” He nodded rapidly, disengaging her hand and stepping back from her.

She watched him go, making his escape out of the Great Hall into the cold night air. The icy winds cut through him without a cloak, yet it eased the tension in his shoulders, and the growing tension in his groin. He didn’t quite understand his reaction to her. He reacted to Sansa as though she were any lady interested in him rather than his sister. Her sweet touches were something she had done many a time with Robb, treating Jon like the brother she had lost.

It was something he had always craved from her. Sansa being so distant hadn’t meant too much to him before, or he hadn’t acknowledged how much it hurt him before now. Now she was showing him attention that he sorely wished for, and his body reacts in a disgusting, shameful way. Jon couldn’t understand it.

Hopefully…hopefully it was a fluke…

\--------------

In the following fortnight after Bran’s going away feast, Jon learned that it wasn’t a fluke at all.

During the time after Robb’s death, Theon had done his grieving then he started showing up by Jon’s side. Growing up, they had never truly gotten along. Both of them felt like outsiders of the family, Jon the bastard and Theon the foster/hostage Greyjoy. They always fought for Robb’s attention, stating they were his best friend, and bickering over who he liked more. Theon made his dislike of Jon greatly known, just as Jon had made his dislike of Theon greatly known.

So, he found it peculiar that Greyjoy was suddenly speaking to him kindly, and no teasing snare in sight. Jon figured he was trying to get in good with the new lord though he wasn’t sure what for. He also noticed that Theon was interacting with Sansa as well. He seemed to find any reason to enter Jon’s solar to speak with her, making her giggle and smile.

It was aggravating Jon immensely. That burning hot wildfire would start to ignite within his belly and burning a pathway up his chest. Jon feared he’d open his mouth one time and breath fire at him like a dragon. He could never get any work done when Greyjoy would enter the room to speak to Sansa. It made Jon want to snatch Sansa away, keep her hidden from the other man vying for her attention.

It was Robb all over again.

Instead, Jon was feeling less than brotherly feelings towards his half-sister. He found reasons himself, to be near her though working together to keep the castle running smoothly helped, Jon also took it upon himself to better teach her sums. He would lean close beside her and even lift her hand to direct her towards the answers; he would always find a reason to touch her then. He even took her out one warm morning to the Wolfswood to teach her how to properly ride rather than the lady’s way.

Jon held her hand, placing a warm hand on her hip after helping her up on her horse with legs on either side of the saddle. He found her touch soothing and soft, the urge to continue to touch her grew and grew. He couldn’t help but stare at her while she worked, be it reading, writing, embroidery, or riding. Jon knew he looked at her like a woman and not like a sister at all.

Theon’s sudden attention on Sansa burned Jon because his attentions were that of man seeking her companionship than a friend. Knowing that, he wasn’t surprised when Theon came to him late at night to speak of Sansa.

“Theon,” Jon greeted gruffly, rubbing at his eyes to keep the tiredness at bay. Sansa had left an hour ago for bed, but he still had taxes to look over on the farming land near the Gift. He had hoped to get that done then head to bed.

“Lord Snow,” Theon teasingly greeted in return, closing the door tightly behind him. He walked with his usual swagger, peering down on the table to see what was there. Jon clenched his hands into fists in annoyance at the name, he wished he had written in that he would gain the Stark name as well as lordship, but he hadn’t thought to do it and Robb hadn’t stated he wished for Jon to have the Stark name.

“I’m busy,” he grumbled, sweeping his hand outward to indicate the paperwork before him. Theon rolled his eyes, cocking his hip into the table with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I won’t be long, I wish to only make a request.”

“Then get on with it, I’m tired.”

“Alright then, I wish for you to approve a betrothal between myself and Sansa,” Theon issued swiftly, his smile broadening as Jon stared at him.

“No,” he answered stiffly.

Immediately, Theon glared, uncrossing his arms with his hands balled into fists. “Why not?!” he questioned angrily. Jon returned his glare with one of his own.

“She’s fifteen and you have been passed over as heir to the Iron Isles, it would not be a feasible match.” He also hated the idea of Theon touching Sansa romantically. The image of her beneath Theon in bed made his blood burn in his veins.

“Oh, but I think you will agree, Lord Snow.” Theon’s whole demeanor rapidly changed. Suddenly he was cool and collected like earlier.

“I highly doubt that.”

“I know what you did.” Jon frowned deeply at the statement, pushing his chair back, but staying seated. His heart rate sped though he gave no indication he understood what Theon had meant. “You see, I was the last to see Robb before his death. I bid him goodnight, made sure he was comfortable then peeked at his will to see it was still unfinished. He was fast asleep by the time I left him that night, so I find it odd that his will suddenly happened to be completed and naming you, lord of Winterfell, within it.”

Blood rushed through his ears, he could hardly hear what Theon was saying. Fear sent an icy cold streak down his spine, yet his face gave nothing away. Jon kept his breathing as steady as possible, only narrowing his eyes in response to the accusation.

“So, as I said, I wish to be betrothed to Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell and on her sixteenth name day, we will wed before the heart tree and we will be given a plot of land in the Gift to be part of your bannerman, Lord Snow.” Theon sniggered happily, acting as though he had put Jon into a corner.

Anger and rage churned in his stomach with the likes of wildfire igniting further inside him. Jon felt green with envy, seeing how Theon practically had this all in the bag. He may not get Winterfell as Jon knew Greyjoy had wanted as well, but he would get Sansa.

Jon couldn’t let that happen. No one could have her.

No one, but him.

“Alright, Greyjoy,” Jon agreed quietly, ignoring the look of triumph on his face. He waved a hand over to some papers further down the long table. “Bring me a fresh sheet of paper and I will write up the betrothal right now.”

Theon smirked happily, turning his back to do as he was told. Jon gracefully stood from his seat. On the table was this beautiful geode that Ned Stark had found while ascending the mountain of the Vale in his boyhood. It was about the size of a fist and heavy. His father had used it as a paperweight when it was a nice breezy day outside and he wished for the windows to be open in his solar for fresh air.

Jon picked it up easily, approaching swiftly behind Theon. “I imagine Sansa will be happy, she seems to have taken quite the liking to me. I can’t wait to show her all the ways of pleasure I have learned over the years. Mayhaps you all will hear her screams of pleasure on our wedding night.”

Jon found it far too easy and satisfying to bring down the geode hard against the back of Theon’s head. A loud crunch was produced, and he collapsed to the ground, motionless. He watched emotionlessly as blood slowly seeped from the wound in the back of his head. Jon set the geode down on the ground then flipped Theon over, he placed his hand over his mouth to feel no air passing through.

He noted that Greyjoy’s chest wasn’t moving either. Jon had killed Theon in one blow.

There was no guilt or shock, everything felt so methodical. Jon merely maneuvered Theon until he could throw him over his shoulder then carried his lifeless body out of his solar. It was late at night, everyone already tucked in their beds. That made it easy for him to carry his load unseen through the corridors.

Jon entered the kennels, finding the direwolves all moving about during the late hour. Nocturnal creatures they were. He opened the door, stepping in and smiling when Ghost approached him. His direwolf sniffed Theon’s boot, snorting at the scent then backing away. Jon smiled at his reaction then dropped his load on the ground for the wolves to investigate.

“I need everything gone but his bones,” Jon instructed, stepping back to allow the wolves room.

He watched as they sniffed about Theon’s body. It was unsurprising that Shaggydog went first, clamping his teeth around an arm and pulling the body closer to him. Summer grabbed the other arm, both yanking until the jolts made a popping noise each then muscle, and skin gave way. Nymeria started on a leg with Lady joining her.

Ghost stood by Jon, watching his brothers and sisters eat. Grey Wind stayed in his corner, watching with dark eyes. Those eyes moved to look at Jon, almost inquiring why this was happening. Jon found himself answering the unspoken question, “He was going to defile Sansa.”

Grey Wind seemed to understand him, moving from his corner to join the others in the frenzy. He sunk his teeth into Theon’s neck, rattling and chewing. Jon stood there and watched as slowly Theon stopped resembling himself, turning into a mere carcass for these animals to devour. Eventually, Ghost joined in and before long there was nothing, but bones and cloth left behind.

Jon managed to get most of the bigger ones like the skull and limbs though Shaggydog refused to give up the bone he was gnawing on. He allowed the direwolf his treat, knowing the bone would be gone before the light of day. Jon secured the bones into a sack, carrying them back up to his chambers and hiding them in a trunk for the time being. He then completed the tax forms and went to bed…

\--------------

It took almost a whole day before anyone noticed Theon was missing. As customary, he asked around, did a search that was fruitless, and declared Greyjoy missing. Sansa worried over him, but Jon assured her that he probably left to Winter Town to visit the brothel. She winced at the mention of such a place then continued with her work, not asking about Theon again.

He had men go to Winter Town two days later to ask around, but nothing came up. At the same time that Theon went missing, they gain visitors in the form of Maege Mormont and her heir daughter, Dacey Mormont. They had visited the Wall only days earlier and wished for a few days of rest and to speak with the new Lord of Winterfell.

Jon found he enjoyed the women of Bear Island immensely. Sansa wasn’t entirely sure how to take them, but she was ever courteous and kind, finding common ground with Dacey. It was Arya that enjoyed the visit most of all. Dacey entertained her with stories of Bear Island, telling her of the training the women undergo both feminine and masculine.

Maege came to him one evening inquiring if he was willing to foster out Arya to them, feeling she would feel more at home in a place that wasn’t so strict upon her interests as it was in Winterfell underneath her Septa. Jon assured her that he would speak with Arya to see if she was interested. He wasn’t surprised when she all but begged him to allow it.

Lady Catelyn hated him for being lord and sending Bran to White Harbor, he could only imagine what she would do if he sent Arya away as well. So, Jon brought it up to Sansa.

“Well, I think that it would be good for her,” Sansa stated slowly, placing her quill down before turning her eyes upon him.

“Are you saying that as a sister or because she annoys you?” Jon couldn’t help but ask, knowing how the two antagonized each other though it had grown far and few between as they aged. Sansa scoffed at him, pouting in her cute way that made his blood run hot.

“I say this as a sister that sees her little sister struggle trying to be something she quite clearly is not. Arya is not particularly good at being a lady, and she has no role models that resemble her and her interests. I think sending her to Bear Island with the Mormonts to be fostered is a grand idea. If it’s something she wants, then I don’t see why not.” She smiled smugly, a smile came to his lips in return.

“Your Lady mother is going to hate me more for this,” Jon vowed, wondering how he was going to allow this without Catelyn Stark coming for his blood.

“I’ll say that Arya and I approve of this, and we’re forcing you to comply.” He arched a brow at her.

“Forcing me to comply?” he questioned.

“Leave my mother to me, Jon,” she waved him off, going back to her reading of scrolls. Jon felt his heart skip a beat as he stared at her, wishing he could go to her and kiss her smile from her warm, sweet lips.

Lady Catelyn still blamed Jon when Arya left with the Mormonts a week later. He made sure she hide the sword he had commissioned for her, Needle, as she traveled. Jon was accused of ruining the Stark family, of trying to send away all of her trueborn children so he could keep Winterfell for his own. As much as he wanted to defend himself, he knew it was a lost cause with her, so he allowed her to rant and rave at him while Sansa stood on the wayside until Catelyn stormed out of his solar.

Her words ringing loudly in his ears.

_“How long until you wed Sansa off? How until you send Rickon away too? Will you send me away as well Jon Snow?”_

“You did what was best for Arya and for Bran. Every letter we receive, he tells us how happy he is in White Harbor and how much he is learning, and Arya will be the same too. Don’t let mother’s words get to you, Jon,” Sansa said encouragingly, placing a warm, comforting hand on his shoulder. Blindly, he reached up, clasping his hand over top of hers to keep her in place.

He loved the feel of her soft hand beneath his. Slowly, he caressed the top of her hand, feeling her squeeze his shoulder, but not remove her hand. Jon closed his eyes, relishing the feeling of her so near and the sweet words she spoke to him.

“Aye, she doesn’t see that though.” Sighing deeply, he released her hand, allowing her to pull away though she was slow in doing so.

“I do.” Sansa moved to stand beside his seated position, staring down at him thoughtfully. “You have done nothing but what was asked of you, and I see that. You’re a good man, Jon Snow, and I’m proud to not only call you, my Lord, but my brother too.”

Jon’s throat went dry making swallowing hard. He stared lost in her eyes, both loving and hating what she had said to him. The part of him that wanted recognition for his hard work, acknowledgement of being a fine lord and her brother rejoiced, but the other, newer side of him hated it. He hated hearing her be proud they were related because what he felt was not something an elder brother should feel for his younger sister.

Then there was the remark that he was a ‘good man’ that bothered him because he wasn’t. He finished his brother’s will to gain his lordship, and he killed Theon Greyjoy because he wanted Sansa’s hand in marriage, and because he knew the truth of what Jon had done. He wasn’t anywhere near a good man, and she would agree if she knew the truth.

“But I’m not,” he sullenly insisted, drawing his gaze to the table in front of him with work needing to be done before the day was finished.

“I don’t believe that. I know we have never been terribly close growing up, but these past three moons have greatly changed that. I feel like I know you even better than I knew Robb. You are a good man, Jon, don’t ever forget that.”

All he could do was nod, feeling slightly bad when she sighed at his response. If she knew the truth she wouldn’t be saying this to him. If she knew, she’d run away scared, not only from what he had done, but from what he truly wants to do to her.

He has always wanted it, always wanted Winterfell and he got it, but now there was something else he wanted, something else to pray in the godswood for.

And her name is Sansa Stark…

\--------------

A few more weeks go by before Theon is officially declared missing. Jon contacts the Iron Isles to notify of his disappearance though he received no message back. He knows Lady Catelyn is suspicious of him, more so with Arya’s recent fostering. Her accusations fueling her to believe the worst in Jon yet only one accusation would be correct.

She tried to keep Sansa from joining Jon in his solar, but her daughter was adamant in her duties, duties that Lady Catelyn had neglected doing upon his entrance into lordship. Jon listens in on Sansa stating to her mother that she was soon to be six and ten, a woman grown and able to make her own decisions. Hearing her defend her decision to work with Jon only made him love her more and made keeping his feeling at bay even harder than before.

With the recent accusations and Sansa’s name day coming closer and closer, Jon knew it was only a matter of time before she brought up marriage possibilities.

“Jon, I’ve been thinking,” Sansa started out, fiddling with the piece of cloth that she was embroidering while he finished up for the night. A sense of dread came over him at seeing the hesitation in her nervously fluttering eyes. He also noted that she was biting her bottom lip, clearly what she had been thinking wasn’t something she was confident with talking about.

“Yes,” Jon said encouragingly. He set aside his quill and ink, giving her his full attention.

“Yes, well…since my name day is coming up in a fortnight, I was wondering…if you had decided on any betrothals for me.” Sansa glanced at Jon briefly then averted her eyes back to her unfinished piece, running her finger over the embroidered work as she waited for him to respond.

Jon pursed his lips, his chest burning at the thought of marrying Sansa off to anyone else. He hadn’t thought of it, not after Theon…Jon rubbed his forehead, pushing aside that night from his mind.

“Jon.”

“I haven’t thought of it yet. With Arya and Bran gone, Theon missing, and…I just haven’t given it much thought is all.” He shrugged, opening his eyes to see a bit of relief in her features which confused him.

Hadn’t Sansa always wanted to be a wife and have children? He could quite clearly remember her talking about such things with her best friend, Jeyne Poole. Her best friend had already turned six and ten, and was quickly betrothed, and wed a moon after their father had suddenly passed. He knew they kept correspondence with each other. Sansa seemed rather envious of her too.

“You seemed relieved.” Jon decided to mention, watching as her shoulders slumped before she set aside her work.

“Well, if I am to be honest, I don’t want to leave home. I have always dreamed of a husband, running a household, and children, but the thought of leaving home after so much tragedy…and I miss Bran and even Arya dearly, I can only imagine how much worse it’ll be once I am living with a husband…” Sansa drifted off for a moment, her eyes slightly glossy though she produced no tears. “Then there’s you,” she added, connecting her blue, consuming eyes with his.

“Me?”

Sansa nodded, shifting in her chair to face him properly. “You’ve come to mean a lot to me, Jon. It makes me feel terrible for how I treated you before now.”

“You didn’t treat me like anything,” he commented, arching a brow as she shook her head with a sad smile and half lidded eyes.

“Exactly. I treated you like nothing like you weren’t even there and that was terrible of me. You are my brother and I treated you like you a servant than family. For that, I am so sorry.” Sansa quickly brushed aside a tear falling down her cheek.

Jon felt completely stunned by her declaration. She hadn’t ever gone out of her way to be particularly cruel to him, but like she had said, she also hadn’t gone out of her way to include him as family either. Hearing those words of how much he means to her, hearing how she felt guilty over her treatment of him or lack thereof, and apologizing; Jon felt his throat close up with heavy emotion.

“I,” he started, choking on the single word before clearing his throat again. “I forgive you, Sansa. You’ve come to mean the world to me too. That makes it hard to try and find you a husband when I don’t want you leave my side.”

Sansa gasped softly, pressing her lips together tightly as though she were trying to keep a smile from appearing on her lips. It was her glossy blue eyes that gave away her happiness at his words. Abruptly, she stood up, gliding to his side where she engulfed him in a tight hug. Jon swallowed thickly, closing his arms around her waist and pulling her into his lap as he returned her hug just as tightly.

Thoughtlessly, Jon pressed his lips to the side of her throat. She shuddered in his arms and lap, her fingers clawing up the back of his neck into his wild hair. Feeling her reaction, he pressed another kiss then another. Sansa made a gasping, breathy sound, leaning her head further to the side to give him better access to her skin.

Jon gripped the back of her dress in one hand, his other gliding up her back to tug at her hair while he continued to kiss her throat. His tongue came out to lightly skim along with his lips; a throb jolted in his groin when she whined at the feeling on her skin. He attached his lips to her jawline, opening his mouth to suck causing another heavy jolt in his groin at her louder whine.

Sansa pulled away, her eyes dazed and dark. Jon slid his hand to cradle the back of her neck, drawing her back to him until their noses lightly nuzzled each other and their breathes mingled with heavy pants. She licked her lips nervously, a light flick of her tongue touched his bottom lip as she did so, and everything shifted.

Their lips met frantically, pressing and molding together. Sansa moaned into their kiss, closing a fist in his hair but not pulling away; she was holding on. Jon groaned deeply, rumbling from within his chest as he slanted his mouth, and slipped his tongue into hers. They moaned in unison, her tongue wrapping tightly around his as they kissed.

He ran his hand down her back then up the side of her waist, brushing his thumb over her covered breast. Sansa shuddered again, leaning into his hand until his palm was covering it as well. The only sounds were of them kissing, panting, and moaning at the touch, taste, feel of each other.

Jon was hard inside his trousers, he knew she could feel it against her thigh. Gods knew, he wanted to place her on the desk before him, tossing ink and paper aside, and ravish her. He wanted to take her maidenhead, pound his cock into her drenched cunt until the whole of Winterfell could hear her screaming his name. Vaguely, Jon felt like he had heard something similar before, but the feel of Sansa’s hand clawing tender at his scalp distracted his thought process.

Just as he was going to stand up and carry her to his bedchamber, Sansa pulled away for air. Once she caught her breath, she seemed to realize their position and what exactly they had been doing. She released her hold on his hair, struggling to stand, and get out of his lap. Jon helped her though he wished to pull her back to him, cradle her in his arms and have another taste of her sweet mouth again.

“Sansa,” he mumbled breathlessly, watching as her eyes widened as she realized the implications of what they had done and who they are to each other. Rapidly, she started to shake her head, pressing a hand to cover her mouth in shock.

“What were we doing?” Sansa questioned numbly, glancing between her embroidered cloth, his face, and the door to the hall.

“Sansa, calm down.” Jon stood up, holding his hands in front of him in a calming gesture.

“What were we doing, Jon?” she asked again, her eyes watering quickly. Sickness rocked and rumbled in his stomach at the sight.

“We were kissing,” he admitted.

“We are siblings!” she countered almost hysterically, tears rolling down her cheeks at her outburst.

“I know, but it’s going to be okay.” Sansa shook her head again, her braid swinging wildly behind her.

“No, it’s not okay, Jon! We were kissing like lovers, but you’re my brother!” Jon reached out to grab her arm, but she spun around faster, her skirts whipping out widely before she was running for the door.

“Sansa!” Jon called out, but she was already slamming the door behind her.

He was left in tense silence with only his heart beat and rushing blood pounding in his ears. Jon took a deep breath, aiming to keep the burning wildfire inside, but as he released it, so did it come forth as well.

He turned, swinging his arm out, and sending the chair she had sat in across the room then he grabbed hold of the long table. He felt no weight of the heavy wood as he effortlessly flipped it over in his rage. Jon kicked another chair so hard it shattered upon hitting the stone wall. Papers were scattered about, fanning on the floor. He stomped over them, slamming his right fist into the underside of the table where it indented, and he left blood and scraped skin behind.

Jon growled like a wolf, wishing to destroy more things as the pain of Sansa’s rejection echoed inside him. Without a care or thought, he left his solar in disarray, heading through the Keep then outside to the godswood. Déjà vu came over him as he retraced his steps with tears blurring his vision and the cold nipping at his skin. Abruptly, he came upon the heart tree where he dropped to his knees and prayed like he had years ago.

He prayed for guidance, he prayed for hope, and he prayed for his deepest secrets to come true. He prayed and wished for Sansa to return his feelings, knowing he was her brother, and knowing how wrong and sinful a union between them would be; Jon still wished for it all the same.

It seemed his first deepest secret had been granted once before, so Jon asked for this last one to be granted. He asked knowing how much it would cost for Sansa to return his feelings, that she would disregard what was proper and appropriate for him. He loved her so much, he only wished for her love in return.

Jon stayed out there for hours, his knees cold from the ground and the rest of him frozen from the icy winds of night. He eventually left though there was no eyes upon him like when he was younger, nor that warmth that companied the eyes.

He slept hard, ignoring the knocking at his door, and the calls of servants in his solar. Jon slept so long and hard, that once he woke it was to see Maester Luwin looking over him. The old man feared Jon had become sick, his head rather warm. He proved to the old Maester that he was fine, getting up and eating and moving about.

Jon asked how he got into his bedchamber, but then his eyes were drawn to a sewing circle on his dresser. He picked it up, seeing the workings of a white wolf; a direwolf. He knew then it was Sansa that had let the Maester in, knew that she had been here, watching over him even after what they did last night.

It gave him an inkling of hope.

Unfortunately, Sansa took to keeping her distance since that night. She spent very little time in his solar before she would be off checking with the cook, the blacksmith, and so on; doing her duty as lady of the castle. Jon couldn’t fault her for how she felt, but it still hurt me fiercely that his feelings, though sinful, were unrequited.

Then something worse happened…

\--------------

It was mid-day, Jon was finishing up a small meal to get him through his work when there was a knock at his door. He sighed, knowing it wasn’t Sansa as the knock was heavier than her light tapping. He called for whomever to enter.

Catelyn Stark entered his solar.

Jon sat up stiffer, jaw clamped tightly together for a brief moment before he relaxed his jawline to speak, “What can I do for you, Lady Stark?”

“There’s nothing you can do for me. I am merely here to tell you of my plans,” Catelyn stated briskly, tone stern and hard.

“Plans?” Jon questioned, his brow coming down in confusion. A sense of foreboding came over him when he noticed a slow smug smile coming to her lips.

“Yes. After Sansa’s sixteenth name day, I will be taking her and Rickon to Riverrun.” It felt like ice had dropped over his head, sliding down to his ears. Immediately, he started to shake his head as anger boiled in his chest.

“No, my siblings aren’t going anywhere,” Jon declared heatedly, the food in his stomach felt like a hard lump now. Lady Catelyn’s expression quickly morphed into anger with her nose scrunched up and eyes narrowed upon him.

“Yes, they will. They are my children, Jon Snow, and I will take them wherever I want.”

“I am Lord of Winterfell, and I say no. If you, my lady, wish to go to your childhood home then so be it, but Sansa and Rickon will stay put in Winterfell where they belong.” His fingers bit into the palm of his hands as he glared at her.

“You cheated my children out of their inheritance. For all I know, you probably killed Robb and wrote the will yourself!” Catelyn hissed accusingly, her face growing flushed with anger.

“Robb said he would declare me his heir on his deathbed and he wrote it himself! You cannot contest his handwriting, nor can you contest my place in this castle any longer! Sansa and Rickon stay put, you are welcomed to leave.” It took all of Jon’s willpower to keep from standing up and approaching her; intimidating her.

“You are nothing but a monster stealing from my children. You sent two of them away, soon you’ll send Rickon away then marry Sansa off to the highest bidder!”

“Sansa is not going anywhere!” Jon roared angrily, jumping to stand so swiftly that his chair rocked backwards to the floor. She took in his heaving chest and reddened face, her head cocking slightly in thought.

Then it was like an epiphany came over her.

Lady Catelyn looked at him with such disgust and anger. Jon thought he knew how much she hated him, but her hatred knew no bounds now. If looks could kill…

“You disgusting bastard,” she whispered, taking a step back from him. “You disgusting, lustful bastard! My daughter; your father’s daughter! I will take my children away from here to protect them from you!”

Jon grinded his teeth, watching her leave his solar in a rush. He couldn’t let that happen, he couldn’t let Catelyn Stark take away the love of his life. Even if Sansa did not requite his feelings, he still couldn’t let her be taken away from him. He couldn’t allow that to happen, not only because of his love for her, but for the immense help she has been since picking up her mother’s duties.

She didn’t want to leave Winterfell and Jon was going to make sure she never did…

\--------------

Sansa gave no indication that she was leaving with her mother and little brother to Riverrun. She kept her eyes averted when she entered his solar, and only gave small bits of conversation, and would shut down if he tried to broach the issue between them. It pained Jon to see her like this, treating me like this.

He had a plan of his own though.

Jon made sure Lady Catelyn was busy outside the Keep when he placed Theon’s bones in her chambers. It was the day of Sansa’s six and tenth name day, so Lady Stark was busy with the festivities that she made sure he knew that he would have no hand in. Jon waved her off, allowing her a sense of security for the time being.

He dressed nicely for the occasion, his clothes black, but nice and formal. He went to the feast, sat at the head table, and stared along with the rest of them when Sansa entered the Great Hall in a gown of green and blue. It accented her red hair and blue eyes. Her hair was loose, curling and waving down her back. Jon was surprised to see the neckline of the dress was rather low, affording everyone a glimpse of her bosom.

He watched as she danced with many men, smiling and laughing. Jon kept a stern, sullen expression though on the inside he was slowly being consumed by wildfire. Every man she danced with glanced down the front of her dress, held her too closely, and made her sweet laughter dance around the high ceilings of the Great Hall.

Jon wanted nothing more than to rip apart each man that thought they could touch her. She was his. No one else’s but his. He waited patiently though, waited until she was walking through the crowd, tired from dancing.

It was his time to swoop in.

“Sansa,” Jon called out, coming up to her quickly, and sliding his arm through hers. “I need to speak with you privately.” He could see apprehension in her eyes, but there was sadness too. Her distance didn’t only hurt him; it hurt her as well.

“Alright,” she answered, giving him a tiny smile of assurance.

He snuck her away through the crowd, hoping suitors for Lady Catelyn would keep her at bay until it was the right time for her to search for her daughter. Jon pursed his lips to keep from smirking as he led her up to his solar, closing the door tightly behind him.

“What is it you wish to speak to me about?” Sansa asked once he turned back to her.

“I miss you, Sansa,” Jon admitted softly, allowing his mask to fall away, and reveal the pain, and hurt that her distance has caused him. She became saddened by his statement and expression, glancing away quickly.

“I…I miss you too, Jon,” she whispered gently, squeezing her eyes shut after her admission.

“Then why distance yourself, why put up this wall between us?” Jon knew why, but he needed her to tell him, to admit she regrets doing so.

To admit she wants him as much as he wants her.

“I’m scared, Jon. Afraid of what we did and-and…and how much I…liked it.” He sucked in air tightly through his mouth, heart thumping erratically in his chest. “You are my brother, and I…we kissed like lovers and I liked it so much. But it is sinful and wrong, we’re Starks, not Targaryens.”

“I love you,” Jon voiced out breathlessly, coming to stand before her. “I love you.”

“Jon,” Sansa whined, her face crumbling before she burrowed into his chest with her arms wrapping around him. “I don’t want to leave you and my home! I want to stay here by your side! I want-I want…” Sansa pulled back from his chest to gaze up with tears trailing down her flushed cheeks. “I love you.”

Jon pulled her up until her lips crashed into his, swallowing her words of love so they may warm him from the inside out. She surrendered to his lips and tongue, allowing him to control the kiss between them. He picked her up, his hands cupping her bum with squeezing fingers as he directed them to his bedchamber.

He set her down on his bed, pushing her hair from her face as they kissed. Tongues tangled in battle, rubbing and fighting. Jon used his lips as a distraction as he tugged on her skirts, pulling them higher and higher up her legs. Once he revealed her stockings and smallclothes, he pulled away, using a gentle hand to push her back until she was laying on his bed in a fevered daze.

“Let me show you how much I love you, Sansa,” Jon said heatedly, untying her smallclothes to reveal her hair covered mound.

Sansa moaned, mumbling how embarrassed she was, but she didn’t stop him when he pushed her thighs apart to reveal her womanhood to him. She was pink and wet, and Jon couldn’t help but stare at her lovely cunt, exposing her to the cool air of his room. He glanced up to see her face consumed by redness with her hands covering her eyes.

He smiled then descended between her thighs to get a taste. Sansa whined and moaned his name as his mouth kissed her lower lips, nudging them aside to kiss the wetness of her slit. He ran his tongue along the small slit, adding to her wetness so it could ease his passage into her body later. Remembering the numerous times Theon talked about coupling; Jon used his thumb to pull back her mound to reveal a small nub.

Very gently, he flicked the tip of his tongue against it. Sansa’s reaction was immediate, she cried out in pleasure, raising her hips to his face in silent begging for him to do that again. Jon complied, flicking his tongue against her nub many more times and relishing each cry he produced out of her. Before long he was licking the flat of his tongue from her slit up to her nub in long, hard swipes.

She smelled and tasted musky with a hint of sweetness that was all her own. Jon couldn’t get enough of it. So much so that he closed his mouth over her entrance, pushing his tongue inside her cunt and sucking as much of her wetness as he could. He used his thumb to rub hard circles around her nub, bringing her closer and closer to her first release. Sansa tossed and turned on his bed, her hips raising up to meet his plundering mouth, and pressing thumb. Jon pressed hard on top of her nub, finding it curious how she liked it harder than softer. So, he pinched the nub with a slight tug that resulted in her screaming his name and finding her release.

Jon came up for air then went back down to sup from her sweet cunt some more. Sansa pushed at his head. “No, Jon, I couldn’t again,” she moaned though her attempts to push him away were rather weak.

He pulled back to state, “Trust me, sweet girl, you can, and you will many times tonight.”

Sansa merely whined, allowing him to take her pleasure to new heights when he closed his mouth into a tight suction around her nub while probing her entrance with one finger then two. He worked her over fast and hard, producing another climax that wracked her whole body in shivers and trembles.

As she slowly came down, Jon tore at his clothes until he was bare, with his cock jutting out from his body. He leaned over Sansa, reaching underneath her to grab each side of her dress then rip down the seams. She gasped at his urgency, frowning at the ruin that was her dress, but she didn’t protest as he pulled the garment off her with her ruined shift next. Jon took a moment after centering her on his bed to take in her beautiful body.

“Let me make love to you, Sansa.” Her eyes darkened upon hearing his words.

“But I must remain a maiden for my husband,” she answered weakly, cradling his hips with her knees. Jon pushed back small strands of hair from her face, cupping her cheek while gazing deeply into her eyes.

“Oh, sweet girl, you won’t ever have a husband because you will always be by my side,” Jon declared darkly, approving of the way her eyes widened yet she appeared pleased by his words.

“I love you, Jon,” Sansa said sweetly, nuzzling into his palm at her cheek.

“I love you, Sansa.”

Jon placed his hardened cock at her entrance, nudging softly at her small slit. She bit her lip as he pushed forward, squeezing his thick cock into her small cunt, forcing her walls to accommodate him. She whimpered at the feeling, her walls tightening around him, but her eyes never looked away from his. Jon moved slowly, stretching her small insides further and further until he could go no further with his wiry hair pressing snug against hers.

“There, sweet girl, you’re mine now.”

Sansa cooed his name, shifting her hips at the feel of him in her then he pulled back a small bit. His eyes traveled down her body to see a small amount of blood on his cock, telling him he had taken her for his own. The wildfire inside him roared in pleasure, sounding more like a dragon than a wolf.

He pushed forward, burying his cock inside her. She whined at the feeling, still uncomfortable it seemed. Jon wished he could make it better for her because all he felt was immense pleasure tingling through his cock and body. He leaned down to kiss her, hoping to distract her while he continued to thrust. Sansa took to his kisses, thrusting her tongue into his mouth to trace along his teeth and brush the roof of his mouth. Her hands trailed over his skin, crawling up his chest, ghosting over his shoulders then dragging her nails down his back.

Jon shuddered at the feeling, pushing his hips harder into hers. Her inner walls encased his cock snuggly with scorching heat. The thought of releasing his seed in her made him thrust faster and faster. Sansa moaned his name, clutching underneath his shoulders as he took her harder and faster.

He felt complete, buried inside her. As though this was all meant to be, that she was supposed to be his all along. Sansa was his, and he would kill anyone who got in the way of that. Soon she’d be carrying his bastard, a fate he wouldn’t ever wish on anyone, but the mere imagining of Sansa growing round with his child kept him going. He was a lord now; his children would have the best education and possibilities even if he could never claim them as his own.

He reached down, supporting himself with one hand to find her hidden nub. Jon found it rather quickly, pressing down hard on the button of flesh then dragging his thumb back and forth to reduce Sansa to cries of pleasure. Her inner walls clenched harder around his cock as he fiddled with her nub. Quite suddenly Jon was bursting inside her, hitting his peak abruptly, and flooding her warm cunt with his seed.

His hips rutted a few more times before he came to a stop though his thumb continued to torture her nub until she gave in to her pleasure once more. Jon grunted at the harsh tightness surrounding his softening cock, forcing him to pull out from sensitivity. The moment he dropped to his side, Sansa grabbed his hand to place it back at her cunt.

“You want more,” he panted, curiously.

“Yes,” Sansa moaned; gasping even louder when he pushed two fingers inside her with quick flicks of his wrist.

He could feel his seed and her juices inside her channel, they could both hear them squish as he fucked her with his fingers. He liked how insatiable she was being, her hips raising up to meet his questing fingers. It was putting him on the fast track to being ready once more.

Jon glanced at his window to see how dark it had become outside, knowing that Lady Catelyn will be searching for Sansa by now. He smirked. The first part of his plan would soon come to be.

He rutted his cock against her hip while finger fucking her, slowly bringing his cock back to full attention. Jon leaned down to press kisses along her throat before closing his lips around the tip of her breast. He could imagine her breasts growing larger with milk for his child. It was an intoxicating thought process and it helped his cock become completely hard again.

Jon pulled his hand away, ignoring her cry for him to ‘not stop’ before urging her to flip around. “On your hands and knees, Stark. Let me take you like a wolf.”

Sansa complied sluggishly, getting to her hands and knees, and showing him the result of their first coupling. Her cunt was a tad red with rawness with a mixture of his seed, her juices, and her maidenhead dripping from her entrance. Jon spread her cheeks apart to take in the sight, kissing the head of his cock to her nub a few times to get her excited and wanting.

“Who do you belong to, Sansa?” Jon questioned, kissing his cock to her nub again that sent a jolt down her spine.

“You,” she answered.

“Who do you belong to, Sansa Stark?” Jon repeated heatedly, pressing his head to her entrance, watching the slit spread open slowly.

“Jon Snow!”

That’s right, he thought darkly, plunging into her with his first thrust. Sansa gasped, pressing back to meet his thrusts as he started a steady pace.

Jon gripped her hips tightly, pounding into her fluttering cunt. He felt like he was getting in deeper than before, touching places he hadn’t touched earlier. Sansa was also louder, accenting to the loud slapping of his hips into her bum, and his balls meeting her mound. He could see it now, the future he had always wanted.

Of course, he could never wed Sansa, nor claim his children, but those were drawbacks he would overcome eventually. Still, the pretty vision of him raising his kids with Sansa by his side warmed his heart and soul. He could even feel the eyes of the old gods on him, their warmth assuring him that it would happen. Jon would never have to be envious of others again because he would finally have everything he ever wanted.

Sansa dropped her arms into her pillow, burying her face with her back arched upward to allow him to continue to fuck her. Her voice rang loudly though muffled, and she continued to push back, meeting his thrusts, and impaling herself on his cock. Jon was so consumed by her heat, her body, and her noises that he almost missed the sound of his bedchamber door opening.

Jon turned to find Catelyn Stark standing at his door. Her eyes so wide they took over her face with her jaw opened in a large ‘o’. She paled further upon hearing Sansa’s cries of pleasure, her mother’s eyes watching Jon continuously push his cock into her cunt.

“Sansa is mine now,” Jon calls out, smirking as Catelyn paled further. “And I intend to get her with child too, so she’ll remain by my side.”

Sansa, not realizing they had company replied to his words. “Yes, please! I want your child in my belly, give me your seed, Jon!”

Hearing her words, he reached underneath her with his eyes still connected with her mother’s and pinched her nub tightly between his thumb and index finger. Jon peaked at almost the same time that she did, with her muffled cry of his name to put the final nail into the coffin.

Catelyn was shaking violently, her eyes fluttering around the room, so Jon gave her something to look at. He pulled out of Sansa, tugging her exhausted body around until her mother could see the result of their coupling with his seed oozing out of her well fucked cunt. Sansa collapsed on her side, turning to smile at Jon before noticing her mother at the door. She screamed at the sight of her, grabbing at the furs to cover herself.

Her mother turned heel and ran from the room. Jon jumped off the bed in pursuit. He barely managed to dunk when she came at him with a dagger in her hand. Sansa screamed from the bedchamber, but Jon caught Catelyn’s wrist easily enough. He pushed her back, closing the door to his bedchamber before she came at him again.

The dagger’s sharp blade sliced down his left arm, blood swiftly seeping from the wound. Jon jumped back from another swipe, aiming to disarm her when his solar door burst open with a few guardsmen. Jory quickly snatched Catelyn from behind, forcing her to drop the dagger to the floor.

Everything was a mess. Jon had the guardsmen take Catelyn away, locking her in her chambers for the time being. He had one of the men get Maester Luwin, and during that intermission, he assured Sansa he would be alright as they dressed with him urging her to return to her chambers for the night.

Maester Luwin patched him up quickly enough, closing the wound as efficiently with a thread and needle as Sansa would with her embroidery. They talked about what happened, Jon stating that he wished to keep his siblings home, and that he thinks Catelyn had something to do with Theon missing for he showed interest in a betrothal with Sansa.

Slowly, Jon planted the seeds of his plan.

The next morning, he had the guardsmen searched Catelyn’s chambers, producing Theon’s remains which sealed her fate. Sansa cried over the revelations of her mother’s deeds from killing Theon to almost killing Jon. She begged him though to spare her life, to send her away instead of a hanging.

Though he didn’t want too, he agreed with her wishes. It helped when she got down on her knees and begged him with her mouth on his cock.

Jon came down to the cells where she was being held until they were to depart that very morning. Catelyn glared at him heatedly behind the barred doors. He asked that he be left alone with her, waving off his guardsmen.

“I have a memory I wish to discuss with you, Lady Stark.” She continued to glare at him, her mouth tightly shut. She told anyone that would listen that Jon had defiled her daughter, but no one truly listened, not after what happened to Theon. “I was, but a boy, and I was playing a game with my brother, Robb. We liked pretending to be great kings, lords, and knights.” Jon could tell she was seeing where this was going.

“Then one day, I announced I’d be lord of Winterfell. If memory serves me right, you came at exactly the right moment to dash my dreams. You told me I could never be Lord of Winterfell because I was a bastard and it was not my place,” Jon said darkly, his hands balling into fists. “You told me as a bastard I could never hope for lordship and that the sooner I learned my place, the better for everyone around me. Do you remember that day?”

Catelyn remained silent, so Jon went on, “Well look at where we are now.” He started to tick off on his fingers, “I got lordship, I got Winterfell, and…I got Sansa too. Seems like I did pretty damn well for a bastard child.”

“I will kill you, Jon Snow,” Catelyn vowed, her voice a mere hiss.

“You are going to King’s Landing to the Septa of Baelor where you will be trained to be a better citizen after killing Theon and attempting to kill me. I’m afraid your chance to kill me has long since passed. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a sister to fuck.”

Catelyn started screaming, flinging herself against the bars, and shaking them violently. His guardsmen returned where Jon advised them to sedate her for the whole trip before leaving the cells. A dark chuckle escaped him upon hearing her scream and struggle before silence reined.

He made his way up to his bedchambers where he had left Sansa sleeping, not able to bear watching her mother leave in such a way. Little Rickon was with Old Nan, listening to happy stories as he coped with his mother’s apparent insanity.

Jon entered his bedchamber, finding the sight of Sansa naked with her shoulders peaking beneath his furs a lovely image. He shrugged off his clothes, climbing on the bed while tugging his furs down her body to reveal more and more naked skin. She was on her stomach, face burrowed into her pillow and arms. Jon pressed a kiss at the top of her spine then followed down it, pressing kisses to her tailbone.

He spread her cheeks apart to see her still moist from their coupling last night. It took nothing for him to ease inside her, thrusting to the hilt to produce a moan from her lips as she started to rouse. He got everything he wanted, and his bastard status hadn’t stood in the way of it. They were all wrong about him.

He had the old gods on his side, granting his prays, and guiding him to succeed. He got Winterfell, he got lordship, and he got the woman of his dreams. Soon enough, he’ll have children running around the Keep.

He has always wanted it, always wanted Winterfell. As a bastard, Jon Snow learned the hard way that he could never have what he truly wanted until today.

He was a bastard, and he would never forget that…

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So...essentially Jon's the villain if you think about it. He definitely lets his envy run the game here. I always wanted to write Jon being a bit more evil, and I'm hoping to do something similar later on when I get the chance. I wish I could have spent more time writing this out, certain scenes I would have extended rather than narrate over, but because of the time crunch and I am doing tomorrows prompt as well, some things had to be cut short.
> 
> I hope y'all enjoyed this story! Sometimes I like seeing the villain win and he most certainly did. Also I tried to keep Catelyn in character as much as possible, though I don't know how well I did. Let me know whatcha think!? ^_~


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